


Decadence

by HereticDawn



Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: Blasphemy, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Face-Fucking, Knifeplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 13:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereticDawn/pseuds/HereticDawn
Summary: John Constantine has his own personal guardian angel, assigned to try to help him stay on a semi-righteous path. Unfortunately, she doesn't like him, and he doesn't like her either.





	Decadence

“Constantine.”

A groan is all that answers her.

“John.”

A louder groan, and a shift under the ivory bedsheets, but the dark-haired man doesn’t respond. Clariel sighs, pressing the side of the knuckle of her index finger against her lips to kiss the cross tattooed upon her skin. She prays briefly for strength of conviction, then steps up onto the mattress. Standing with one foot on either side of the human’s hips, she takes a deep breath to steady herself, then crouches down on her knees. The human makes a soft sound, shifts again, and Clariel briefly acknowledges why God’s creations are so beautiful, and perhaps why God loves them so much. And then the man presses his hips up into her ass, hands suddenly grasping her thighs to hold her against him while he grinds his morning erection into her.

“This what you were looking for, half-breed?” John hisses.

Clariel sneers, briefly baring her teeth at him, her hands clasping around his wrists and squeezing maybe a bit too tightly from the wince on his face. She pins him to the mattress easily, sitting on his hips determinedly to show she wasn’t cowed by his lewd actions. John strains beneath her, but it is ineffectual, and he knows it. Her wings show when she’s angry, though, and he likes knowing he can affect her.

“I found an exorcism for you. Get up, take a shower, and meet me at this address. Understand?” Clariel isn’t asking, but she feigns like she is, grasping his wrists in one hand to show just how much stronger she was. She pulls a folded sheet of ruled paper from her back pocket and uses her thumb to wrench his jaw open so she can slip the paper into his mouth. John glares at her, but she simply smiles, closing John’s mouth around the paper and using her nails to draw a symbol of protection across his chest.

“See you soon, John.” She hums, and then she is gone in a gust of wind, leaving only an ashy white feather behind to show she’d been there.

\---------

Clariel, like most angels, has a unique beauty to her. Unlike Gabriel, she is not androgynous at all, but she shares the sharp cheekbones and marble-white skin. Her hair is nearly white, falling in curls around her shoulders and ending in about three inches of hair as black as John’s, which is mimicked in the colouring of her massive wings. Clariel doesn’t dress like Gabriel either. She tends towards ragged tank tops that show off her defined shoulder blades and give her wings room. She wears jeans more often than anything else, though he’s seen her in leather pants before and if that wasn’t a sin, he wasn’t sure what was. What sort of angel wears shirts that show off side-boob and leather pants nearly painted to her skin? John grimaces as he pushes his wet hair out of his face, takes a long drag off his cigarette, and approaches the angel that has been haunting his life lately.

“Hello John.” Clariel purrs without turning to face him, stretching a little in a way that shows off a new tattoo on her lower back.

“You have a fucking pentacle of Solomon as a tramp stamp?” John scoffs, stepping up behind her and yanking the back of her shirt up out of the way so he can see it better. Clariel could easily shove him away, even just with her wings, but instead she curls them out of the way and lets the human run his fingers over her inked skin.

“I have many tattoos, John. As you know, it is useful for hunting demons.” Clariel retorts, tilting her head curiously as John’s touch strays up her back to the divination circle inked below her wing. He traces it, then slides his hand around to her stomach to pull her back against him. Clariel begins to pull away, but John dips his head to brush his lips over her ear.

“People are looking, half-breed. Displays of affection make humans uncomfortable.” John explains, kissing his way along her neck to the juncture of her shoulder. 

“It makes angels uncomfortable as well, Johnathan.” Clariel snaps.

“It’s not like you’ll be forsaken for a bit of kissing. Even God isn’t that cruel.” John smirks against her skin, “Is he?”

“Like you love to remind me, I am a half-breed. I have my rules, but I am allowed to indulge in some ways.” Clariel replies, wetting her lips. John is pushing it, and she knows she should break his nose, but she doesn’t move.

“What ways?”

“Exorcism, John. In this building, apartment 402. I’ll let you handle it.” Clariel hesitates, “Call for me if you need me.”

John doesn’t have a chance to respond. She disappears a moment later, and John smirks when he sees another feather left behind.

\--------

The exorcism goes smoothly, until he finds another person needing an exorcism in the same apartment building. After completing his second exorcism of the day, John takes a moment to stand by a window and smoke. He closes his eyes briefly, centers himself, and calls out for his angel.

“I’m not your angel, John.” Clariel takes his cigarette from him and puts it out, then brushes her fingers over a cut on his cheek. She licks her thumb, swiping away the blood from his face. John blows smoke in her face in response.

“Sure seems like you are.” John retorts, eying her for a moment before gesturing to the building, “There were two possessions. I want to make a protection circle to clear this place since it seems to be a hotspot.”

Clariel simply nods, “Basement?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to amplify it, I’m assuming?” Clariel asks, her deep blue eyes locked with his.

“If you don’t mind.” John agrees, leading her down the stairs to the building’s dingy basement. Clariel shrugs, taking a piece of chalk from a pouch on her belt and carefully beginning to draw a protection circle with him. Once the circle is finished, Clariel offers him an ornate dagger with intricate symbols carved into the blade. John helps Clariel sit near the middle of the circle without smearing the chalk, then crouches beside her.

“This is freely given to protect God’s children, correct?” John confirms, and Clariel nods.

“I give my blood freely to protect God’s children from evil.” Clariel states, closing her eyes seconds before John drags the tip of the blade across her arm. He squeezes around the wound to coax more blood out, coating his fingers and drawing a seal in the middle of the circle. Clariel joins him in the saying the required prayers even though it isn’t needed, and she should be saving her energy. The spell takes hold, the circle burning into the floor, and John helps Clariel stand.

“C’mon. I’ll fix you up at my place.” John hums, and while she isn’t paying attention, he pockets the dagger. 

\---------

Clariel wakes up in John’s bed, her arm wrapped in gauze and a wet facecloth laid on her forehead. John hums in the other room, and from the occasional clanging and the smell of French toast, she assumes he’s cooking himself lunch. Clariel remembers getting into John’s trash car, but she doesn’t remember getting back to his apartment, so she’s fairly sure he carried her in. She wishes, sometimes, that John would let his good side show more often. He could be so sweet sometimes, but then he’d turn around and do something that made her uncomfortable just to get under her skin.

Clariel climbs out of his bed, removing her shirt when she realizes it has dried blood on it, stealing one of John’s instead. His button up hangs off of her thin frame. She closes three buttons, adjusts her jeans, and walks out into the main room. Barefoot, leaving her boots in John’s room beside the bed, she sneaks up behind John to see what he’s doing.

“I can smell you, half-breed. You’re not sneaky. You smell like watermelon candy.” John looks over his shoulder to prove his point, and his sharp intake of breath has Clariel tensing.

“I didn’t know I smelt like anything… What? What is it?”

“… Is that my shirt?” John asks, hand clenched tight around a spatula that he had been using to flip their lunch. 

“Uhm… Yes, it is. Is that not okay?” Clariel asks, freezing and eying him nervously. John places the spatula aside and walks over to her, his face blank. He carefully takes the edge of the shirt, twisting the fabric in his fingers.

“You said earlier… you can still indulge, right?” John asks, and Clariel raises her brows in confusion. 

“Yes, John, we can. We have rules, but we are also given some freedoms.” Clariel murmurs.

“Have you ever taken advantage of those freedoms?” John asks, his pupils blown.

“Not… with another.” Clariel replies cautiously, and she wavers as his gaze becomes predatory. John undoes the lowest button, watching Clariel’s face for any sign of protest. The middle button comes undone next, and John traces up to undo the last button when Clariel only stares into his eyes.

“Do you want this?” John asks finally, letting out a sigh of relief when Clariel says yes. She’s nervous, and untrusting of him, but she can’t deny that she does still have base instinct somewhere deep down. She was a half-breed after all. Perhaps this was her purpose. Perhaps God had always intended for her to serve John as a way of serving him. She could fool herself into thinking that, at least, for a little while.

John slips his shirt off of her shoulders and drops it to the floor, taking in her shape as if she were a work of art. She takes her cues from him, her freed wings stretching out to their full length before folding against her back. Slender fingers undo the buttons on his shirt, and she can’t help but trace delicate branching lines over his skin. When he realizes she’s drawing pentacles on his skin, he smirks, lifting her up and sitting her on the edge of the table.

“I have enough of those already.” John reminds her, and Clariel smiles briefly, leaning up to delicately press her mouth to his. She kisses slow and deep, luxurious as if she’s got all the time in the world, and John finds himself relishing it. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, while Clariel simply tastes clean and sweet, but both of them enjoy the sharp contrast. John’s hand brushes against Clariel’s wing, and he pulls away when she jolts in his arms, putting two and two together as quickly as one would expect from him.

“Does that feel good?”

“Hush, John.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t think so. I don’t go to confession, but I’ll confess my sins to you, hm? Do you want to give me absolution?” John asks, watching her shiver. He guides her to her knees, chasing fantasies now and hoping to show her a thing or two along the road. Clariel goes willingly, and obediently begins to unbuckle his belt and drop his trousers. John leans his ass against the table to make sure he won’t fall over, his fingers curling into Clariel’s hair. Clariel stares up at him with wide eyes, but she allows him to guide her forwards and gently licks from the base of his dick all the way to the head. She circles it with her tongue, but John doesn’t let her linger, shoving her forwards to get his cock into that wet heat.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was… twenty years ago.” John prays, thrusting forwards into Clariel’s mouth and setting an even pace. She stares up at him as he fucks into that tight, wet heat, shivering as her throat clenches around his dick. John lets out a soft groan, pressing forward until her nose is pressed to his skin. He hisses, pleasure spiking up his spine as her throat begins to work and gag around his cock, but he holds her there.

“Forgive me for my sin, Father, for I am weak and fall into temptation again, and again, and again.” John prays, punctuating his statement by thrusting into Clariel’s mouth with every repetition. Clariel attempts to pull back a bit, and John smirks, shoving her head forwards again to hear her choke on his cock. She begins to push gently at his hips to tell him that she needs to breathe, and John simply thrusts faster, getting off on her struggle. He sets a rough pace, fucking into her mouth while staring down at her face so that he can watch the tears track down her cheeks, the drool leak down her chin.

“Fuck, half-breed, you look like sin incarnate.” John growls, groaning loudly as he gives a couple rougher thrusts before finally cumming down her throat. Clariel swallows, gasping as soon as his dick is out of her mouth. She catches her breath, rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth to wipe away the evidence of their sin. John puts his dick away, then crouches to lick the spit and cum from her mouth and chin. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth, soothing the swollen flesh and soon turning it into a filthy kiss. The sort of kiss ‘swapping spit’ was created to describe. John groans as he tastes himself on her tongue, sliding his hands under her thighs and lifting her up. John carries her to his bed, throwing her down on the mattress. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I am about to sin again.” John murmurs, “You better start praying, half-breed.”

\-------

Clariel is stronger, faster, and more agile than John can ever hope to be, but she lays sprawled beneath him regardless as he secures her hands to his bedframe. 

“You look good like this, angel. Maybe this is why God didn’t want you anymore – too sinful for heaven, too pure for hell.” John traces his fingers down her bare chest, pausing to circle and tease her nipples into hardened buds before he moves on. Clariel arches beautifully into the gentle touch tracing down her belly, then yelps in surprise as John gives her inner thigh a sharp smack. He soothes it with a gentle touch, then steps away from the bed a bit to light a cigarette, inhaling deeply and holding it to get the full hit. Before breathing out, he leans over the bed and grips Clariel’s chin, blowing smoke in her face, sealing the act with a soft kiss. 

“Dear Lord, I thank You for the power of forgiveness, and I choose to forgive everyone who has hurt me. Help me set your son, John Constantine, free and release them to You. Help me bless those who have hurt me. Help me walk in righteousness, peace, and joy, demonstrating Your life here on earth. I choose to be kind and compassionate, forgiving others, just as You forgave me. In Jesus’ name, amen.” Clariel prays, even as John trails his free hand down to cup her cunt, sliding his fingers down to dip into her wetness. Merciless, he presses one thick finger into her, his thumb flicking over her clit. He fingers her through her prayer, adding another when she seems to have adjusted. 

“I don’t think you want God watching what I’m going to do to you, Clariel.” John hums after taking another puff of his cigarette, smirking when she clenches around his fingers. But John is not a good man, not always, so once he’s built her up to soft whimpers and moans, he pulls his fingers free and licks her essence off of them. Curious, endlessly curious, John sits on the edge of the bed and touches Clariel’s wing. She jerks it away from him, but he follows relentlessly, stroking his hands over her lesser coverts and down into her down feathers. Each touch has her twitching beside him, face contorted in rapturous torture.

“How delicate are these?” John asks, leaving his cigarette hanging from his lips, stroking his fingers down to where her wings fuse into her back and watching her face twist into a silent scream. She thrashes, and he drops his free hand to shove two fingers back into her just to feel her shatter around him. Now oversensitive, Clariel protests weakly as he brutally works her open, thumb on her clit to ensure she’s on the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain.

“Stop, stop, John, please, it’s too much!” Clariel begs, yelping when he slaps her cunt.

“Answer my question.”

“If you pull to hard, you’ll hurt them, but you wouldn’t be able to break them or anything.” Clariel answers in a rush, attempting to close her legs to avoid further torture. John simply smirks, moving between her thighs to avoid her closing herself off and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His pants follow, revealing his lack of underwear, and Clariel wiggles when he rubs himself through the wetness of her orgasm to slick himself up. He strokes himself, taking a long drag off of his cigarette, then stubbing it out on the delicate skin of her stomach. Clariel struggles, but John lines himself up and enters her in a sharp thrust, causing her back to arch again.

“Oh, John, please!” Clariel tugs at the belt and tie restraining her hands, and John grins, leaning over her to brace himself and get leverage to thrust into her. He pins her wings, which causes her to howl, her shaking legs squeezing tightly around him. John wrenches the tie and belt loose, hissing as her nails instantly latch onto and dig into his back. Each thrust slams the bedframe into the wall, and plaster rains down on the floor around them when John lifts her hips and slams in hard. 

“Oh God, oh God!” Clariel screams as John runs his fingers in tight circles around her clit.

“Aww, baby. God isn’t here, Clariel. God can’t save you from me.” John leans down to bite her neck, sucking purple bruises into her skin. His pace is brutal. He watches as tears well up in her eyes, and when they begin to run down her cheeks, he licks them from her skin.

“You were made for me, my wicked little angel. Made for me to fuck, made to help me, made to purify me while I fill you with my sin. God made you for me. He has sacrificed you to me.’ John growls, biting her nipples, her throat, even the bone of her wing, “God can’t make you cum like I can.”

Clariel rakes her nails up his back, and her wings curl around them as she reaches her peak, egged on by John’s insistent touch. He follows her no more than a couple of thrusts later, filling her to the brim. The human collapses atop her, burying his face in her hair and pressing soft kisses to her temple and cheekbone. The halfbreed takes his weight easily, nuzzling her nose behind his ear and curling her wings tightly around him as if to protect him. She can feel his spend leaking down between her ass cheeks, but she says nothing, simply traces her fingers affectionately over the tattoos marking his skin. John hums, pulling out of her and leaning up on his elbows.

“You alright, babe?” John asks, “Didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?”

Clariel snorts, pulling him down into a soft, languid kiss.

“You are a very unique man, John. You haven’t hurt me.” The angel purrs, and John hums noncommittally, indulging in the kiss instead of conversation.

“Do I have to worry about creating quarter-breeds?” John asks, and Clariel laughs, full and loud.

“No, John, you haven’t put a baby in me.” She says, still laughing. John’s eyes had returned to their normal chocolate colour, but his pupils blew when she mentioned a baby.

“Could I?” John asks, and Clariel chokes on her laugh, giving him a gentle shove. John smirks, rubbing his stubbly chin against her shoulder.

“What? I meant… is it possible?” John rephrases, and Clariel ponders a moment.

“It could be, were the intent in place.” She finally answers.

“I meant what I said earlier, babe.” John finally says, pushing her wing out of the way and laying back beside her, lighting another cigarette. Clariel curls into his side, resting her head on his chest, pressing kisses over the tattoo on his right arm.

“Which part?” She asks, tracing his tattoo with lips and tongue. John lets her, smoking and relaxing back into the mattress.

“That you were made for me. You were. You’re mine. Should carve my name into your skin just to make sure everyone else knows it.” John muses. 

“I’d let you, if you truly wanted to.” Clariel replies after a short pause for consideration. John shudders, pulling her closer.

“Stop trying to kill me, angel. You’re supposed to be making sure I don’t blaspheme and die.”

“There’s only so much I can do to stop you, Johnathan.” Clariel retorts.

“Tell me I can fuck your sweet cunt again and I’ll do anything you tell me to, angel.”

“Johnathan Constantine!” 

\--------

John meets Clariel at a large church that has clearly been around for over a century. Demonic activity had picked up recently, and John had barely had any time to breathe between exorcisms. He knew his angel was equally busy and he had only seen her once since he first had her. Unfortunately, she had only visited to patch up his wounds and fall asleep wrapped in his arms. She was gone by morning. Now, she stands before him in a shirt he hadn’t even known he was missing and a pair of jean shorts. His shirt hangs off her shoulders, and he can tell that she isn’t wearing a bra.

“Shouldn’t we be going to church to avoid temptation, angel?” John asks.

“Keep it in your pants, John.” Clariel replies, a slight flush rising in her cheeks. John smirks, dropping a hand to squeeze her ass and pull her against him. The angel steps away, but John simply yanks her back again, and the fact that she lets him proves that she’s only putting up a fight for show. John drags her into the church, pinning her to a wall near the door and stealing a searing kiss. He licks into her mouth, forcing her to submit to him just to push her past her propriety. 

“You’re mine, Clariel. God made you mine – made you for me. Stop fighting as if you’re a good little angel when we both know I’ve been balls deep inside of you.” John growls, sucking a mark into her neck to replace the ones that have faded. Clariel whines softly, tangling her fingers in his hair and fighting between holding him there and pulling him away.

“John… John, darling, I’m yours. But we’re here for a reason and I need you to stop toying with me like this.” Clariel kisses his temple, his cheekbone, and his forehead before he catches her in a slower, but deeper kiss.

“I won’t toy with you.” John promises. Clariel smiles fondly, moving around him and lacing her fingers through his to lead him in. A tall man with skin even deeper black than Papa Midnite stands at the altar, staring up at the cross underneath the stained-glass windows. Wings white as a dove’s unfurl from his back, and he is alone in the church. The man turns as they approach, blue eyes locking in on their clasped hands, a frown pulling at his lips. He’s as handsome as every other angel, and if not for the frown currently marring his features, he looks soothing and calming.

“Clariel. Sister, why have you brought this man with you?” The man asks, and John feels himself bristling. 

“Michael, my dear brother.” Clariel steps closer, but his eyes trace over her for a moment before narrowing.

“You’ve sullied yourself.” Michael states. It is not a question, and John watches Clariel’s wings droop.

“Michael, I-“

“I’m aware of your situation, sister. I am also aware that to protect him and dedicate yourself to him does not require you to allow him to use your body. It is an option, but it is not a necessity.” Michael reminds her, and Clariel wets her lips, swallows, and looks up at him determinedly.

“Michael, we are looking into the surge in possessions. I hoped to see my beloved brother, but I am clearly not welcome, so if you could point us in the right direction, I will take my leave.” Clariel requests, jolting when she realizes that John is running his thumb in soothing circles over her hand. She looks up at him through her lashes, then turns her gaze back to her brother.

“I will help you, of course. You are not unwelcome; I am simply disappointed, sister. I beg you to ask for forgiveness and purge yourself of this uncleanliness.” Michael implores her, and Clariel swallows hard. John moves to speak, but Clariel stops him, and Michael eyes them for a moment before sighing quietly.

“There is a demonic half-breed consolidating power. He frequents that bar, run by the old witch doctor.” Michael informs them, and Clariel nods, “I need to leave; I have business to attend to. Lock the door when you leave. I suggest you take the time to say your prayers and ask forgiveness.”

Clariel nods again, and Michael is gone, leaving them standing awkwardly in the aisle. John waits only a moment before his hand clasps the back of Clariel’s neck, and he drags her towards the confessionals. She doesn’t fight, but when John shoves her down on the seat and kneels before her, she looks at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck, you look so innocent like that.” John tugs her shorts and underwear down even as she scrambles to keep them on, then forcefully spreads her legs, one on his shoulder and the other pressed to a wall. He does not warm her up, simply shoves his tongue into her cunt and laps at her messily. Clariel bites down on her hand to hold back any moans or whimpers, but John bites her inner thigh hard when he notices she isn’t singing for him.

“Angel, you are mine. Don’t hold back, or you’ll make your punishment worse.” John growls, smirking at the flicker of fear and arousal in her eyes. Clariel cries out as he laps at her clit, rolling it in his mouth for a moment before forcing his tongue inside of her. He knows she won’t last long, as sensitive as she is, and as lacking in experience. As she begins to squirm and clench up, John pulls away, kissing his way up her stomach to bite her nipples, then trap her in a filthy kiss. He yanks her up and sits in her place, taking advantage of the space in these particular confessionals to bend her over his lap. The half-breed squeaks, wiggling in his lap and looking up at him over her shoulder.

“John?” She asks, and he groans audibly, squeezing her ass cheek.

“I’m going to punish you, baby. I want you to recite The Lord’s Prayer ten times, slowly, while I spank you. When you’re done, you’re going to thank me for your punishment.” John informs her, waiting for an argument. Clariel is tense, but she doesn’t protest. She understands their dynamic, and while outside of John’s sphere of influence she does recognize that what she does with this man is obscene… Well, once she’s looking into his dark eyes, she can’t help but obey him. 

“Begin.” John commands, giving her ass a harsh slap to start her off.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name.” Clariel recites, taking each firm slap without complaint. She does not hurry, saying her prayers how she would normally say them, and by the time she gets halfway done, her ass is so red that John considers stopping for a bit. He dips his fingers into the wetness between her legs to remind himself that she is stronger than she appears and can take pretty much whatever he dishes out. By the tenth recital, Clariel is shaking in his lap, every slap drawing a gasp or whimper from her.

“… Amen. Thank you for punishing me, John.” Clariel finishes, and John dissolves into praises, rubbing her back delicately.

“You’re so good, baby. So good for me. Fuck, you’re so goddamned beautiful. So perfect. You’re mine, angel. All mine.” John lifts her into his arms, wiggling her underwear back on and thanking God that her (his) shirt is long enough on her to cover her up. 

Back at his apartment, John lays her face-down on his bed and lifts her onto her knees, lapping at her clit while dipping his fingers into her to stoke the fire inside of her. It doesn’t take long to warm her up again, and he almost feels bad when he presses his cock into her because the moment he bottoms out, his pelvis hits her raw ass and she whimpers. He thrusts eagerly, enjoying the way she cries out for him and whines every time his hips hit her ass. He slips his rosary into her mouth, using it almost like reins to pull her back as he ruts against her.

“Fuck, you’re the most beautiful thing, Clariel. So fucking beautiful. And all mine. Say you’re mine.” John demands, loosening the rosary to slide out of her mouth and down to her neck, where he tightens it again.

“I’m yours, John. All yours.” Clariel replies, her voice hoarse but earnest.

“Tell me you love me more than God.” John insists, biting down on her shoulder.

“I love you more than I love God.” Clariel repeats after him, each thrust making her cry out, even as her throat is constricted by the rosary.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up. Do you want me to fill you up, babe?”

“Yes, yes, please John. Need you.” The angel whimpers, clenching around him as he rubs her clit and brings her to completion with him. John carefully pulls free of her, guiding her on top of him on her belly so that her sore ass isn’t pressing against his skin. He lights a cigarette, then takes a drag from it while running his fingers delicately through her hair, lulling her to sleep.

\--------

Finding the demon half-breed responsible for the uptick in their work is not difficult. Clariel stalks him when he leaves Papa Midnite’s, following him to condominium for the wealthiest residents in the city. Once there, she calls John and gives him the location.

“Don’t forget my dagger, John.” She says, and he jolts, but she hangs up before he can respond.

“Shit.” John grunts, taking long drags off a fresh cigarette as he drives towards the condominium. When he arrives, he finds his angel has already completed their prep work, including holy water throughout the building’s water supply, seals at all major exits and across windows, and using her influence to evacuate the floors of the building around their target’s condo. She meets him at the entrance, her knuckles adorned with similar gold knucklebusters to his own, though hers have holy symbols aside from the cross in the centre.

“Be careful.” Clariel murmurs, pulling him in for a soft but passionate kiss.

“Don’t worry about me, babe. We’ll get thai food for supper when we’re done, alright?” John hums, ever confident, and Clariel smiles.

“Keep my dagger for now, but I want it back when we’re done.” She says, then takes off to the floor of their target’s condo. John enters the building, confident knowing his angel is watching his back. Clariel is as much of a hunter as him. With them together, Hell doesn’t stand a fucking chance.


End file.
